


Three Times Quinn Met Rachel

by the_afterlight



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: gleebigbang, F/F, M/M, Other, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2010-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_afterlight/pseuds/the_afterlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As head of Fulcrum, Inc., Quinn Fabray faces a number of challenges in her life (not least of which is managing her company around the love lives of her employees). Still, when she and her crack team of investigators are hired to track down the thief of Pterodactyl Attack, a semi-famous painting of cavemen fighting pterodactyls with slingshots, Quinn finds herself in Paris, where she meets Rachel Berry.</p><p>Things with Rachel aren't all that they seem, however, nor are things with Antoni Sachs, the man who hired Fulcrum to track down his painting. What happens when Quinn finds the thief -- and what happens when she finds out what Sachs Industries is really doing?</p><p>(And then there's the job infiltrating MacGuffin, maker of cheap laptops, and what Quinn finds in New York when she returns.)</p><p>A Leverage-inspired Quinn/Rachel AU, also featuring Kurt/Mike, Brittany/Santana, and Puck/everybody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pterodactyl Attack Job

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite possibly the hardest story I have ever written in my life, and I couldn't even tell you why -- although, for all the agony of getting the words out on the page, I am ridiculously happy with what I ended up with. _Especially_ with the art I received from both my amazing artists! acquiescence_@livejournal did an amazing banner, wallpaper, and icons [here](http://users.livejournal.com/acquiescence_/111471.html), and fakeplasticsnow@livejournal did an incredible fanmix [here](http://fakeplasticsnow.livejournal.com/32242.html). Go check them out! I am so luck to have them both as my artists for this fic!

"You have got to be kidding me."

Quinn Fabray, CEO of and chief investigator for Fulcrum, Inc., stared, wide-eyed, at the picture on the screen in front of her. Beside her, Noah "Puck" Puckerman, her main insertion specialist, was continuing: "I mean, seriously. Pterodactyls? And cavemen. Who _paints_ something like that? Much less _steals_ it?"

Quinn waved him off, and -- surprisingly -- he actually did shut up. "It doesn't matter, Puck," she reminded him. "It's been stolen, and we've been hired to track it down and reclaim it. Santana? What do we know?"

A few quick keystrokes, and Santana had the image of the painting floating off to one side while another window, this one filled with text, came up alongside. "The painting belongs to Antoni Sachs, 47, head of Sachs Industries, a leading bio-tech firm. Their main office is in London, but they have a major lab in Paris, as well, so Sachs keeps a residence there. That's where the painting was stolen."

"I can have us on a flight to Paris in... three hours," Kurt offered, tapping away at his iPhone. "The usual hotel?"

Quinn frowned, just a little. "Just a second, Kurt. Santana, what do we know about the thief?"

Santana sighed, wiping the screen with a mouse-click. "Not much. There was very little trace evidence at the crime scene, and no one's come forward to ransom the painting. We're going to have to start from scratch on this one."

"Perfect," Quinn said, feeling a headache coming on already. "Three seats on the flight, Kurt, and two hotel rooms, separate floors. Puck, you're with me, and Mike-"

She paused.

"Where are Mike and Brittany?" Kurt and Santana both opened their mouths, presumably to explain or excuse their respects SOs, but Quinn sighed. "Never mind. With them, I'm pretty sure I don't actually want to know. Puck, Kurt, you're with me. Santana, you're in charge while I'm gone. Please try to keep Mike and Brittany under _some_ kind of control?" Santana nodded, although not without a roll of her eyes; Quinn would take what she could get. "Wheels up in three hours, boys," she said. "Meet me at the airport in one."

* * *

Not being one for introspection, Quinn didn't often stop to look back on how she'd gotten where she was. So far as she was concerned, it didn't actually matter much. Instead, she spent her time being concerned with all of the different details she faced as the head of Fulcrum, Inc. Which were myriad: although her team was supremely confident at what they did, that didn't change the fact that they were all, at least on occasion, _morons_.

Or, at the very least, most of the time they acted like they were still in high school. So far as Quinn could tell, there wasn't much difference between that and actually being a moron.

She'd usually cease introspection there; she had absolutely no desire to revisit any of _her_ particular high school moronic acts.

She'd just keep telling herself that she'd grown past it all.

Quinn did occasionally think about what had prompted her to start Fulcrum, Inc. The only member of the team with a lack of criminal record, she was the one who was the public face of the organisation. Which they needed: Fulcrum did good work, but it was... highly unorthodox. A strong public face was sometimes all that kept them above water, being the only way they landed some of their jobs.

That and the fact that they were _damn good_ at what they did. It's just that what it was they did wasn't something most people ever wanted to have to call on.

For the public, Quinn called Fulcrum, Inc. a 'consortium of private investigators pooling their skills to tackle the toughest cases'. For their clients, she called Fulcrum 'the only group with the talents you need to get the job done'.

In private, she called it 'the most fucked-up group of ex-criminals that private investigation as ever seen'.

Quinn looked across the aisle at Puck and Kurt, hunched over Kurt's iPhone as they watched... something. Given the fact that Quinn couldn't _see_ their other hands, she didn't exactly want to think about what it might actually be. She was glad she'd found Puck before he actually got caught; his particular brand of charisma and confidence made him the best insertion specialist she could have. It was the same confidence that had made him such an effective grifter before she'd caught him: act enough like you're supposed to be somewhere, and people will believe it's true. She'd used those talents effectively on any number of cases, sending Puck into different organisations to get the information they needed to lever their target into capitulating.

Kurt, on the other hand, was a constant surprise. On the surface, he was a prissy, effeminate gay man with a taste for the finer things in life -- mostly the finer _fashion_ things. This was what had led him to a life of computer-related crime; using a number of techniques he'd pioneered, Kurt had taken to redirecting in-progress bank transfers to his own private, off-shore accounts, hacking his way to haute couture. His hacking had also led to his meeting of Mike, another hacker and Kurt's current boyfriend, during a Fulcrum investigation; instead of capturing the other man, Kurt had convinced him -- and, more difficult, convinced Quinn -- that he should join Fulcrum as well.

Given that Mike was also an exceptional and accomplished cat burgler, able to move in and out of buildings without disturbing any kind of security, Quinn had to admit that it had been the right decision.

The 'arrangement' between them and Puck was none of her business, nor was the arrangement between Puck, Santana, and Brittany.

Or Puck and any of the other men, women, and couples of all combinations that he picked up on the weekends. Quinn kept telling herself she needed a new title for Puck. Insertion specialist was too much an innuendo.

Leaning back in her seat, Quinn tried to catch some sleep before they landed in Paris; she wasn't expecting to get much, but it was, if nothing else, worth a try.

And maybe she'd be able to ignore the fact that Kurt and Puck were watching porn across the aisle.

She _really_ didn't want to know where their hands were.

* * *

"Thank you, Mr. Sachs," Quinn said graciously, as he held the door open for her to enter his Paris office. "I do hope we can solve this for you quickly. The painting was stolen four days ago?"

Antoni Sachs, a balding man, more than a little pudgy, nodded. "I don't know it happened!" he insisted. "I mean, you hear about people having things like this stolen, but... The security at my residence is _exceptional_, and the painting itself was alarmed, but nothing went off!"

"It sounds like whoever took it knows something about you and your security," Quinn explained. "Is there anyone close to you who you can think of that might be interested in acquiring the painting? I understand that its value is more as a collectible, that it wouldn't garner much as a sale item except to someone specifically interested in it."

Nodding, Sachs replied, "That's right. It's not... I'll admit it. It's not a particular good painting, and it's not a well-known artist who painted it, but for those of us who follow his work, Pterodactyl Attack is not only one of his most famous, but one of his best. But there are only a few of us left who even appreciate it, so far as I know; we're all personal friends, but beyond that, none of them would have access to any of my security information."

Quinn frowned at that, putting together a few more pieces of the puzzle. "Who is responsible for the security at your residence, Mr. Sachs?"

"I do it all through Sachs Industries," he explained. "All the security at my residences both here and in London is run by the Sachs Industries security department."

"So someone in the company would have access to the information?"

Sachs sputtered. "Someone- You think one of my _employees_ did this?" he stammered. "That's-- But _why_?"

"It's a possibility," Quinn replied calmly. "One we need to consider. I'll have one of my specialists take a look at your computers and see if we can track any unauthorised access to the information on your residence's security. It's a place to start. Beyond that, Mr. Sachs, we'll do everything we can to track down whoever it is who stole this painting from you. And, as we are that best, everything we can do will be more than enough."

A few minutes later, Quinn was leaving the office to return to their hotel: one of the perks of working with Fulcrum was that they had more than enough in their operating budget -- and a stipulation for expenses -- that they could stay in something that was a little above what they might otherwise be able to afford. Quinn had stayed in more high-class hotels since starting Fulcrum than she had even known existed prior.

By the time she made it back, Puck and Kurt had settled into their room, one floor above her own. Kurt already had his three laptops spread out on the desk, and Puck was lounging on the couch watching a soccer match on TV. "Kurt, Puck," she said, walking in. She'd made sure to have a third keycard issued for their room, although she held the only one for hers. "Time to get down to business. I've got you access to the Sachs Industries servers, Kurt, but I don't imagine you need it."

Kurt shook his head. "I was logged in as an admin before you walked into Sachs' office," he admitted. "Started poking around a bit, but I haven't really started investigating yet."

"You can start after we eat," Quinn said. "Puck, order some dinner, and we'll talk."

Puck nodded and grabbed a room service menu. Quinn flopped into a chair. "I'm not sure about this case," she admitted. "Something was... I can't place it, but there was something a little off about Sachs, but it didn't seem to have anything to do with the painting."

"Want me to see if I can find anything else out about the company?" Kurt asked. "While I'm in their system, I mean."

"If you can do it withou-" Quinn cut herself off. "Forget I said that. Go right ahead. I don't know if it will be anything we can use, but..."

Kurt nodded as Puck got off the phone. "So what do you need me to do?" Puck asked. "Want me to get into Sachs Industries?"

Quin nodded. "I'm pretty sure it's an inside job," she explained, and outlined what Sachs had told her about the security on the house. "I want you to pose as a security guard, Puck. It's a good way to find out how they view Sachs as an employer. And if you can find some way to get assigned to his residence, it's a good way to take a look around their without officially going in, and tipping our hand."

"I'll head in tonight," Puck said. "Night shift security has a higher turnover rate, it should be simple to go in tonight."

"Perfect." Quinn smiled. "Just. Be careful? We don't need a repeat of Madripoor."

Kurt looked up. "What happened in Madripoor?"

"_Nothing_ happened in Madripoor," Puck insisted. Quinn did her best to hide her smirk.

"I'm going to go freshen up," Quinn said, getting up from her chair. "Call down to my room when the food arrives, all right? And, boys, don't be _too_ noisy, all right?"

* * *

After dinner, and after outlining exactly what she needed Kurt and Puck to do, Quinn was left with nothing to do for the evening: her part of the investigation was more to liaise with Antoni Sachs, and she couldn't do any more of that for the day.

So she went out.

Wandering the streets near the hotel, Quinn found herself walking into a bar, one not unlike one she'd frequented back home before it was shut down. It was definitely an 'American-style' bar, as much as she'd ever seen one. Certainly she'd never seen a bar anywhere else do quite the same style of karaoke evening.

She wondered, in passing, if the bar was owned by an American, but decided that it didn't much matter.

"I'll have a cosmo," she told the bartender, and while she waited for her (drastically overpriced) drink, she listened to the man butchering Will Young up on stage. She rolled her eyes: karaoke was the same everywhere. "Thanks," Quinn said, as she took her drink, and tossed down a ten-euro bill on the counter.

Overpriced drink? Sure. BUt that didn't mean she couldn't tip.

The man left the stage, and the announcer called up the next singer. Quinn frowned as a familiar song started over the speakers.

"_Don't tell me not to stand, just sit and putter_," the singer began, and Quinn's frown turned into a smile. _Don't Rain On My Parade_ wasn't hte kind of song she usualyl associated with karaoke, but whoever this girl was, she could definitely pull it off.

In fact, as Quinn listened furhter, it seemed to her that the rendition rivalled, maybe even surpassed, the original.

Quinn found a free table and sat down with her drink to enjoy the performance before snagging a song-list book. It took her a few minutes to find the song she wanted, but there were few enough singers in the bar that evening that it didn't take long for the announcer to call her up on stage. She scanned the crowd as she sang: Papa Don't Preach was one of her favorite songs, and she could sing it without even thinking about it, so instead she looked for the singer from before.

And found her, sitting at Quinn's table, smirking and toasting the performance with a cosmo. A second one sat beside her, waiting for Quinn.

"That was pretty good," the girl, dark-haired and Jewish-nosed, said, as Quinn made her way back to the table after her performance. "You do much singing?"

"Just stuff like this," Quinn explained. "I'm in town on business, and I thought I'd check out some of the nightlife. I'm not used to seeing places like this outside of the states, though. I didn't think karaoke like this was big anywhere else. I mean, outisde of the Japanese karaoke centers, but that's an entirely different thing."

The girl nodded. "I know what you mean," she said. "It's a lot of fun, but I kinda like the American-style stuff more. You get to see more people make fools of themselves."

"And it's not the same performing without an audience," Quinn pointed out. The woman nodded enthusiastically.

"Exactly!" she agreed. "I'm Rachel," she added. "I'm here on business, too."

"Quinn Fabray," Quinn replied, smiling and holding out a hand for Rachel to shake. "What is it you do, Rachel?"

"I do acquisitions for my firm," Rachel explained. "I'm here to check out some new talent. Not having much luck, though. The people I've been interviewing are very..."

"French?"

Rachel laughed. "Yes, exactly. Nothing against the French, but it's not the kind of thing I find fits well into an American business model."

"I know what you mean," Quinn agreed. "I mean, sometimes I think the American business model sucks, y'know? But if it's what you're working with, you usually-"

"Need an American to do it, just so that they'll fit in."

Quinn nodded. "Yeah, exactly." She drained the rest of her first cosmo and started in on the one Rachel had bought her -- perhaps not the smartest of moves, Quinn realised, but Rachel seemed nice, and Quinn did trust herself to be a good judge of character.

"So what about you?" Rachel asked. "What are you doing here in Paris?"

Quinn shrugged. "Oh, it's boring," she said. "I'm jsut here to see a man about a painting." She sipped at her drink before shrugging again. "Nothing major. We're looking at expanding our sales into the art industry, and I've been sent out here to take a look at this one artist we're looking at representing."

"That's not boring at all," Rachel replied. "I mean, I'm into art. What kind of stuff are you looking at? It's all modern?"

"Not all of it," Quinn made up, glad for the chance to think on her feet. It had been a while since she'd needed to make up a cover story on the fly. "We're doing some new stuff, yes, but we're also looking at representing private sales for collectors. Finding buyers for those looking to sell pieces. This one guy -- I probably shouldn't be telling you this -- but this one guy we're representing? Has a collection of Venus de Milo copies, every single one with a full set of arms, no two of them identical." She giggled -- and blamed the alcohol for it, because she was _not_ a giggler. "We're having a little trouble finding a buyer for those, I have to admit."

Rachel was staring. "I can see why," she said. "Do you know who sculpted them?"

"Apparently he did it himself," Quinn explained. "I guess he used to make a living as a forger? Got caught, spent ten years in jail, got out and started sculpting for himself and on commission. It's not illegal if he sells them as copies, after all."

The conversation continued in that vein for a little while longer; Quinn was happy to have the opportunity to banter, something she'd not done in far too long, and she was happy, too, that Rachel seemed to enjoy it just as much. She was surprised, though, when Rachel boldly asked: "So my hotel's not far from here. Care to come back for a while?" Quinn, surprised (and surprised at being surprised) didn't respond right away, and Rachel's face fell. "Oh, I'm sorry," she apologised. "I thought you were-"

"No! I am!" Quinn interjected. "Sorry, I just didn't realise that _you_ were. I'd love to go back to your room. We can... continue this conversation."

Rachel grinned and leaned in, brushing her lips against Quinn's. "That sounds perfect," she said. "And I've got a bottle of wine waiting to be opened. It should be perfectly chilled."

Quinn laughed. "Really," she said, "you don't need to get me drunk." She paused. "Any more drunk. But please, lead the way!"

Quinn couldn't resist the temptation to watch Rachel's ass in her _very_ tight skirt as the other woman walked in front of her.

* * *

The next morning -- or so Quinn assumed, from the sunlight streaming in through the open window across her torso -- seemed to come far too quickly. Trying as hard as she could not to surrender sleep, Quinn snuggled into the warm body next to her: a mistake, perhaps, as she caused Rachel instead to rouse as well. The brunette turned to face Quinn and smiled. "Morning," she said happily. "Do you have somewhere you need to be this morning, or do you have time for breakfast first?"

Quinn had to stop to think for a moment before smiling and shaking her head. It wasn't _common_ for her to spend a night away while on an op, but it wasn't entirely unknown for any of Fulcrum, Inc.'s operatives. Kurt and Puck shouldn't miss her, she told herself, until at least noon. "Breakfast sounds fantastic," she said, before leaning into to kiss Rachel. Pulling away a few moments later, she added, "Perhaps a shower first?"

Rachel grinned. Quinn was happy to see that it was just as cute by daylight as it had been in the bar the night before. "A shower sounds great," she said. "C'mon, it's this way."

So it was about an hour later than Quinn and Rachel emerged from the bathroom, dripping and laughing, and half an hour later that they were finally sitting down to eat. It was a fine spread: croissants with cheese, fluffy scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, all with fresh-ground coffee.

When it was done, Quinn found, to her surprise, that she didn't want to leave. "I need to go," she said, though, sighing as she did. "I need to meet up with my associates. But- here's my number." Quinn jotted down her personal cell number on a spare scrap of paper. "Will you be back in the states soon?"

Rachel shook her head. "I'm on to Tokyo from here," she explained. "We have an office there, and they need me to take a look at some HR stuff."

"Well, keep in touch?" Quinn asked. Rachel seemed taken a little aback, and Quinn realised that she'd maybe stepped too far. This had been, after all, essentially a one-night stand. "I mean, if you want to."

Rachel hesitated, but then smiled. "Sure," she said, to Quinn's relief. "I'll give you a call when I'm back in the states. Another couple of weeks, probably."

There was one last kiss before she left. Just as the door was closing, though, Quinn turned back to say something:

And through the closing door, she caught a glimpse of Rachel pulling a painting out from behind the couch.

A step forward: Quinn caught her breath, and caught the door just before it latched. Silently, she pushed it open just enough to see through, telling herself that, no, it had to be wrong, it couldn't be: but it was.

Rachel had Antoni Sachs' prized painting. Rachel was the thief.

Quinn let the door close and turned away to walk back to her hotel. She knew where it was now, at least. She, Puck, and Kurt could form a plan to get it back.

* * *

The mood in Kurt and Puck's hotel room is tense, very tense, when Quinn walks in. She'd taken a few moments to stop by her own room first, to change her clothes and collect her thoughts, but she knew she couldn't put off telling what she knew for too long before they needed to put together a plan of action.

Except, she thought, as she walked into the room, something else was _clearly_ up. "What's going on, guys?" she asked, sitting down in the chair opposite Kurt and Puck where they sat on the couch. Puck was still wearing what was an obviously 'liberated' Sachs Industries security uniform; Kurt was in his pyjamas, not even having bothered to put on clothes for the day.

Quinn waited for a response. All she got was Puck and Kurt sharing a look: a nervous, slightly frightened look. "Seriously, guys, what's going on? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's... not anyone in security," Puck said, to start. Quinn bit her tongue to still it before she could speak. "I'm pretty sure of that. There doesn't seem to be anyone there who'd be willing to go against Antoni Sachs."

"Even on the day shift?" Quinn asked, surprised. "I mean, if you only met the night shift..."

"Even on the day shift," Puck confirmed. "They're... I think they're _scared_ of him. And I don't blame them."

Kurt nodded slowly. "Or if not him, they're afraid of what might happen if they make him angry," he explained. "There's... I found some traces of someone hacking into the security files," Kurt added. "So it looks like it was someone from outside. It's the _other_ stuff I found that's the disturbing part." He hesitated, then leaned forward to turn his laptop around on the coffee table so that Quinn could see it. "It's... I can't even."

Quinn leaned forward. Read a paragraph.

Stopped.

Read another, and another.

"This-" she said, swallowing hard. "This. This is for real? This is legitimately on their servers?"

Kurt nodded. "And Puck confirmed hearing rumours," he added.

"The security guys said it's mostly the lower-level people who get taken," Puck explained. "Mostly guys who don't have families, that kind of thing, who won't be missed as easily. They weren't saying much, just that I should keep my nose clean or it could happen to me, too."

"Threats?" Quinn asked.

Puck shook his head. "No, just a warning to the new guy. I felt like they were just as afraid that it could happen to them, too."

This was... This was big, Quinn knew, once more reading through the information on the screen:

> Antoni:  
> Everything's proceeding well. The latest crop of human volunteers has just arrived and they're being treated with the new supplement. I don't suppose you could find a few more for me? There's a variant strain of the virus that seems to react differently to a certain genetic marker.
> 
> There's a new employee I saw in HR -- I don't suppose you could arrange an 'accident' to get him sent my way?
> 
> I'll have the papers citing the subjects volunteer status forged and on your desk by 1600 tomorrow.

It was a simple email, but that one email rendered Antoni Sachs and this nameless employee culpable for unlicensed and illegal human testing. Quinn shook her head. "This is bigger than us," she said. "We need to do something with this. Puck, Kurt... Do you have any contacts here in Paris who can help us?"

"We're dropping the case, then?" Kurt asked -- hopeful, relieved.

Quinn nodded slowly. "I can't... I can't take any more of his money. Not if this is how it's been earned."

"I've got a guy," Puck offered. "His sister works for the city. She can pass on a message for us."

"That'll be perfect," Quinn said. "And Kurt, I trust you can hack in to the police servers and leak that email?"

"Like you even need to ask," Kurt replied. "I'll send it to the major national papers, too. We don't want this getting covered up."

Quinn nodded again, a little more firmly. "Then that's what we're going to do," she said. "Guys, I'm sorry to have -- This isn't the kind of thing we're supposed to be dealing with."

Puck and Kurt shared a look again, one that made Quinn oddly nervous.

"Maybe..." Kurt began. "Maybe it should be. Maybe we should."

* * *

Quinn watched from across the street as, two days later, Antoni Sachs was led from his Sachs Industries office building, handcuffs on his wrists. She couldn't help but smile: already police investigators were swarming the building, finding far more than they'd expected.

Kurt was singularly effective at locking the Sachs Industries employees out of their own server, ensuring that nothing short of physical destruction of the server itself would delete their data. This had, Quinn knew, ensured that everything about the human testing -- forged volunteer documentation, reports, emails between Antoni Sachs and his scientists, a myriad other forms and documents in digital form -- was available when the police came in, tipped off by Kurt's email and Puck's friend's sister. Antoni Sachs was already facing several charges, not least of which were kidnapping and human trafficking, and the media was already whipped up into a frenzy. The stories that treated him best were talking about his corrupt business practices. The less-kind articles painted him as something akin to Doctor Frankenstein, experimenting mercilessly on his poor, unsuspecting subjects. Quinn couldn't help but be glad, for even if he somehow managed to shake off the charges, somehow managed to escape a conviction, his reputation was destroyed. He'd never find an investor again, never start another company, never destroy innocent lives. Not anymore.

And Rachel was safely absconded with the painting.

Quinn had gone back to Rachel's hotel room the day before, ready to tell her everything: what Quinn was really doing in Paris, that she'd seen the painting, that she didn't have to worry because Antoni Sachs was going to jail and Quinn would never tell him who'd taken Pterodactyl Attack. But the hotel room was empty, waiting for a new occupant, and Rachel, so far as Quinn could tell, was long gone.

She'd found a note, though, when she'd shoved her hand into her jacket pocket, something that Rachel must have slipped her before they parted. It was short, a simple comment of, "I had fun, let's do it again sometime!" and a phone number.

Quinn had put the phone number into her cell phone's memory, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to call it.

Antoni Sachs was shoved, head first, into the waiting police car; it drove away, taking him to his destiny.

Quinn turned and walked away, ready to meet Puck and Kurt at the airport for their flight home.


	2. The MacGuffin Job

"Maybe we should," Kurt had said, and Quinn had listened.

Quinn, and not for the first time, wished that she'd never listened to Kurt three months ago, that she'd never considered that, maybe, taking down corrupt businesses was exactly how Fulcrum, Inc. should be using their various talents. It was, after all, listening to Kurt that had led her to her present location, not three miles from the house in which she'd grown up in Lima, Ohio. It was listening to Kurt that had her investigating a company without anyone hiring them.

It was listening to Kurt that had led Quinn to buying this particular shirt, a decision, in the heat of the Ohio summer, that she was swiftly coming to regret.

"Santana," Quinn said before taking a gulp from her glass of ice water. "Walk us through the job."

Santana nodded and turned her laptop around so that Mike, Brittany, and Quinn could all see it. "We're here to infiltrate MacGuffin's Lima, Ohio factory," she explained. "MacGuffin has reportedly been selling laptops with unsafe batteries, even though the batteries themselves didn't pass safety testing in the first place. Reports have placed twenty-three house fires in the past six months as being caused by these faulty batteries, with thirty-one people severely injured and seven fatalities, and there are potentially hundreds of smaller fires caused by these batteries."

"We're here," Quinn explained, "to get into the MacGuffin factory and find something, anything, that was can use to prove that they knew ahead of time that the batteries were unsafe. So far they seem to be trying to cover things up with a recall and some minor payments to injured parties, but it's not enough to cover medical bills, much less replace any lost belongings. If we can get something leaked, MacGuffin can be indicted in a class-action suit, forcing them to pay out damages to the familes affected by these fires."

Brittany nodded enthusiastically, and Mike followed suit a moment later. Quinn couldn't help but smile at that. She'd been pretty certain that they were the right two to bring a long for this job. Certainly they'd been the most enthusiastic about Fulcrum, Inc.'s change in direction after the Pterodactyl Attack/Sachs Industries debacle. "I can get in, no problem," Brittany insisted. "Why don't we just hack in, though?"

"We haven't been able to find anything about the batteries on the servers," Santana explained. "Kurt came up at a loss, and if he can't find it, I doubt either Mike or I could. We're proceeding under the assumption that all of the safety testing results are being kept in hardcopy, or on a non-networked computer."

"Which is where you two come in," Quinn said, nodding at Brittany and Mike. "You're both good at getting into buildings, and I know you probably don't realise it, but the times you've worked together before, you've been more than doubly effective.

"I know MacGuffin," she continued. "My dad worked there when I was growing up. He probably still does. As a company, they've got _tough_ security, but the Lima factory is, by all reports, the most lax about it. It's our best bet to get in and find something."

"What if what we need isn't in the factory?" Mike asked. "I mean, their head office is in LA, right?"

"We'll cross that hurdle when we come to it. Consider this as much a reconnaissance job as a recovery one," Quinn explained. "Now, c'mon, guys. You know MacGuffin laptops. They're cheap, they're small... A lot of the families being affected by this are buying MacGuffin because they can't afford anything better. That means that they can't afford much in the way of health care, either, and they can't afford to replace their belongings. We have a chance to make MacGuffin pay for what they've done here, and maybe even have MacGuffin pay it to those people."

A moment of silence passed as Brittany, Mike, and Santana processed this. "I'm in," Santana said, finally. Quinn looked at her in surprise; she'd expected Santana to follow suit after Brittany, of course, but for Santana to speak up first in any situation like this was unheard of. "What?" she asked. "My little brother has a MacGuffin computer. If anything happened to him..."

"Go give your family a call," Quinn offered. "Make sure they know about the recall. And... I bet our budget can afford a couple of MacBooks." She grinned. "Charge them to the company card."

Santana nodded, smiling softly as she got up. Brittany leaned over to give Quinn a hug. "You're the best boss ever," Brittany said, a big grin on her face. "C'mon, Mike," she added. "Let's take a look at these blueprints, 'k?"

* * *

It was becoming a habit, Quinn reflected, for her to go out to karaoke on the first night of a new job. At least, she told herself, this time she wasn't looking for something she wasn't going to find: their local contact was meeting her at a bar in Lima to pass them some information on the MacGuffin factory's security.

So colour Quinn surprised when, upon entering the bar, she heard a familiar voice belting a familiar tune.

"_I'll march my band out! I'll beat my drum!_"

Quinn stepped off to the side, into the shadows, near the women's washroom. It was where she'd arranged to meet their contact, a little table that she remembered as being habitually unoccupied. After the shock of hearing Rachel's voice again, it didn't surprise Quinn overmuch that, after the song was over, Rachel herself walked up to the table and sat down.

"All things considered," Rachel said, laughing softly, "you're not who I expected to be meeting here."

"All things considered," Quinn retorted, "you're not who I expected, either. Nice job with Pterodactyl Attack, by the way."

Rachel nodded. "So I suppose I have you to thank for Antoni Sachs being too busy fending off criminal charges to even think about tracking down his painting?"

Quinn couldn't help but smirk. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said. "I'm just a simple business woman."

"A simple business woman who runs Fulcrum, Inc.," Rachel pointed out. "Not an easy task, given what I've heard about your employees."

"They... offer challenges," Quinn agreed. "But I wouldn't trade them for the world." She took a long swallow of her drink before continuing. "So what can you tell me about the MacGuffin factory? Any surprises we should be looking out for?"

Rachel shook her head. "You're lucky," she explained. "They've just hired a new head of security, and he's pretty much useless. If you have to go in, now's the time to do it." Rachel pulled a pen out of her purse and grabbed a napkin, on which she started to sketch out the MacGuffin factory. "They're running security patrols, of course, which check in every half-hour with the guard in the office, watching the monitors. But there's only two guys on patrolling, and it's a big building, so there's plenty of time to sneak through. The trick's the monitors, but I can't imagine your people will have much trouble with those."

"I'm sure it won't be a problem," Quinn agreed. "What about the systems?"

"Basic 64-bit encryption." Rachel shrugged. "They haven't upgraded in a little while. If you've got someone with some tech knowledge heading in, they shouldn't have an issue with it."

Quinn nodded, thankful that Mike was as good with computers as he was getting into places he wasn't supposed to be. "Do you know where he'll be able to access the intranet?" she asked. "We haven't been able to find anything on their internet-connected systems, so we're assuming what we're looking for is either on a closed system, or in hardcopy."

Rachel frowned as she looked down at the rough map on the napkin. "As far as I know, everything they've got is part of their main network, and so it'd be connected to the 'net," she explained, "but if there's anything that's separate, it'll be in the lab in the basement. That's where they do all their quality-control testing. As for the hardcopy, that's probably in the offices upstairs."

"I'll have to split them up," Quinn mused aloud. "Okay, that shouldn't be an issue. Do you have anything else for us?"

Shaking her head, Rachel gave Quinn a few moments more to look at the napkin before she knocked her glass over, making a show of doing it accidentally. The napkin got used to mop up the spill, neatly obliterating her drawing. "Oh my God, I am _so sorry_," she insisted. "Come on, my hotel's just around the corner, we can get you out of those wet pants?"

A frisson of excitement ran up Quinn's spine. "Sure," she said, grabbing her purse and standing up. "It'll be nice to get into something dry. I hate wet clothes."

Rachel grinned as she stood, too. "Well, get you out of the wet pants, anyway," she repeated. "As for getting into something dry... Maybe later?"

Quinn flushed, but nodded. "We'll see," she said. "I don't have anywhere to be tonight." Her flush deepened when Rachel grabbed her hand to pull her through the crowded bar.

"Then I guess we have all night," Rachel said. "And I'll lend you a clean pair of pants in the morning."

A part of Quinn wondered if this was a bad idea -- but then they're walking out into the still-warm night, and all Quinn could think was that she was in for a reprise of the best sex of her life.

Tomorrow, she decided, could be left for tomorrow.

* * *

"So did you have fun?"

It was the next morning, and Quinn had just walked into her hotel room. A quick glance at Santana revealed that she was smirking and not angry, so Quinn allowed herself a small mental sigh of relief. "You could say that," she replied, rolling out her neck. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower."

Santana spread her hands, a gesture of 'whatever', so Quinn walked by her and into the small hotel bathroom. She started the shower, letting it run just about as hot as she could bear, before stripping off her clothes from the night before and stepping into the steaming flow of water.

There was knot in her back that the water helped, a sign of stress that Quinn didn't want to face. Ever since leaving Rachel's apartment that morning, Quinn had been running possibilities through her head. Their source back in New York had insisted that her contact -- Rachel -- was trustworthy, but Quinn couldn't help, in the light of day, having more than a few reservations. She knew that Rachel was a thief, after all, and she had no idea why, or for who, Rachel had stolen Pterodactyl Attack in the first place, or how she'd come by the information on MacGuffin.

The entire conundrum wasn't helped by the fact that Quinn _wanted_ to trust Rachel, wanted to believe the best of her. Because this was the second time they'd hooked up, and Quinn had to admit to herself that she was more than a little enamoured of the other woman. She knew that clouded her judgment, but even without that...

Quinn pulled her hair up and let the hot water pound directly at her neck. After a moment, she let it drop, and reached for her body wash.

_We need to trust her,_ Quinn concluded, sighing, as she began to lather herself up. _Because if we don't trust her, then we don't have any intel at all, and we can't do this job. And we need to do the job._ That decided, she shunted her thoughts away from business and let herself enjoy her shower. Soon enough, she'd have to prep her team. Quinn knew she needed to be confident when she did, or Santana, at least, would know she had reservations. And she didn't, not really.

Quinn just couldn't help but wonder if she should.

* * *

Brittany hated being off-comms, even though she knew that they had to be for this run. MacGuffin used cell-phone blockers in their factory, and the Fulcrum team had found out -- the hard way -- that they tended to interfere with their headsets, too. It wasn't that she was worried about anything going wrong; after all, she'd done break-ins like this a million times, it seemed, and she'd never had a problem before. Well, okay, that one time. Maybe two. A few. But mostly her break-ins had gone all right.

No, she hated being off-comms because it meant she couldn't tease Santana with sexy-talk while she was breaking in.

"I suppose you don't want to hear me talk dirty?" Brittany asked Mike, smiling sideways at him. "I mean, it wouldn't be quite the same."

Mike shook his head. "Please, spare me." He visibly shuddered. "The last thing I need is to hear even more of you and Santana. Trust me, last night was _enough_."

"Like you and Kurt aren't just as bad," Brittany sing-songed, laughing. "Or you and Puck, or you, Kurt and Puck-"

"Or you, Puck, and Santana," Mike retorted. "Seriously, though, I really don't want to hear you talking about that. C'mon, let's just do the job."

The two thieves were perched on the roof of the MacGuffin factory, peering down through a skylight into the main factory. Directly below them was a catwalk, off of which there were several offices. Down the way was an elevator. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather take the stairs?" Brittany asked. "I mean, if someone else gets on the elevator..."

"Then I'm just another tech guy checking out the systems," Mike explained patiently. "Just transferred in from one of the other factories. The MacGuffin facebook group is full of stories about how the head of the tech support department here is horrible about keeping his people updated on transfers and stuff like that, so it's not going to be an issue."

"Good," Brittany said, grinning. She pulled a glass-cutter out of her pocket, unfolding it and attaching the suction cup to the pane of the skylight. "After you," she offered, slicing a perfect circle into the glass and lifting it out, setting it carefully aside. Mike rolled his eyes and dropped through the hole onto the catwalk. Brittany followed, and with one last shared smile, the two went their separate ways.

The first office was locked, and Brittany could hear enough sounds coming through the door to know that it was occupied -- and she did _not_ want to interrupt whoever was in there with his secretary (or mistress, or girlfriend... or boyfriend). The second door was locked, as well, but there was no light showing underneath, so she pulled out her lockpick kit and, glancing around first to ensure the coast was clear, picked the lock in about three seconds and let herself in. She closed the door behind her and flipped on the lights.

It wasn't quite an office, Brittany realised, looking around and taking in the contents of the room. There was a desk, yes, and a computer at it, but there were boxes of files on every surface, more than she'd expect to see in an office that was being used by someone on a regular basis. "_Jackpot_," she murmured, her smile widening.

Brittany paused, taking in the scope of all of the boxes she'd need to go through. She sighed

"This is going to take a while."

* * *

The elevator dinged at Mike as it opened up, and he stepped inside, right between two very large men, tall and broad, their dark clothes and heavy vests indicating their status as security guards. "Hi, guys!" Mike offered, giving them a cheery wave. "Just heading down to the lab again, can you believe that the protonic reverser is on the fritz again? Next thing you know, the wonderflo-"

One of the security guards rolled his eyes and flexed his arms. "Shut up. I don't care about that nerdy stuff. Just shut up."

Mike nodded, faking a little bit of fear in his eyes, although he was grinning on the inside. He'd expected about that much of a reaction; neither of the guys seemed to be the geeky kind. Although he knew he'd been stretching it a little with the protonic reversal. "Sorry, sorry," he said, shrinking back a bit. "I'll just, uh, here," he added, squeezing around the other guard to press his button as the elevator doors closed. The guards got off the elevator a few floors later and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Three more floors down and Mike was into the basement levels; two more and the elevator dinged again, the doors opened, and he stepped out into a bland, gray-painted hallway. There were people running everywhere and an alarm going off. Mike frowned as someone spotted him, waving at him. "Finally!" the man said. "Come on, come on, over here, it's about _time_ tech support got here! What took you so long?"

Mike shrugged. "You know how it is," he said. "I just got the request. No on even told me what's going on."

"Yeah, whatever, Roysten needs to get his ass in gear if he wants to keep his job," the man muttered. "There's a problem in the quality-control system again," he added. "It's glitching like it was before. I don't know _why_ they insist on getting tech support down here to override it every time, since it's not like you guys do anything but turn the alarm off _anyway_. We could do that ourselves if they would give us the damn codes, then we wouldn't have to deal with this alarm every _fucking time_\--"

"Oh, uh, right," Mike cut off of the man, although he could sympathise: the alarm was rather obnoxious. He ran through the map he had of MacGuffin in his head. Quality control was down the hallway, to the right, then third door on the left. He thought. "I'll just go take care of that."

As he hurried down the hallway, he frowned. It couldn't be this easy, could it? If the quality control system was always on the fritz, that could explain the problems with the MacGuffin laptops -- but if they knew about it, then that meant that they were letting the faulty batteries out on purpose. Or at least negligently. "The system will tell me more," he told himself, following his mental map. There, right where he'd expected, was a door marked 'Quality Control'. No one was inside, but the alarm Mike had heard out in the hallway was coming -- piercingly -- from the system terminal connected to the server bank Mike could see through the glass wall at the back of the room. He shut the door behind him and twisted the lock closed before pulling out his laptop and setting it up beside the terminal. "Let's see what I can find in here." There was an open ethernet jack at back of the terminal; Mike plugged a crossover cable into it, connecting it to his laptop, and in a few moments of easy hacking, he was in. He shut off the alarm first, then went to work digging through the information on the server.

"Oh, _fuck_," Mike swore, glancing through the first files he came across. He started copying files over to his laptop, willing it to go faster as sweat began to pour down his neck. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_, Quinn is going to flip." The computer couldn't go fast enough; even with the door locked, Mike kept glancing over his shoulder, panic setting in at what he'd read in the files. "Fuck, why are we off comms, Brittany needs to get out of here _now_." His laptop beeped to signal the completed transfer; Mike barely took the time to wrap up his cables and stuff them and his laptop back into his satchel before he went to the door, unlocked it, took a deep breath to calm himself, and walked as calmly as he could out into the hallway.

* * *

Brittany was halfway through her eighteenth box of files when she heard, just at the edge of her awareness, the faint click of the lock popping open. Panic shot up her spine, although she calmed herself a little by reminding herself that anyone legitimate wouldn't have been so quiet, and would have opened the door by now, and-

"Find it yet?" said the dark-haired beauty who walked into the room. "You must be Brittany, right? C'mon, we don't have much time."

-that was not what Brittany was expecting. She stared at the other woman. "Who are _you_?" she asked.

"Didn't Quinn mention? I'm Rachel, I'm here to help. She should have told you I was coming in, too."

Brittany's eyes narrowed a bit. Quinn had mentioned Rachel, yes, in passing, but not anything about her coming in on the job. "I thought it was just Mike and me," she said, putting her file down. She had a knife sheathed at the base of her spine, because Santana never let her go on a mission without it, and made sure that she knew how to use it, but she'd never had to before. Still, her hand slipped back, an innocent gesture, really, as Brittany tried to project innocence with all her body language. "But it must have just slipped her mind, right? I haven't found anything yet, but I'm only a few boxes in. You want to take that one?"

Rachel nodded and dove in, rifling through the box. "So has she mentioned me at all?" Rachel asked, absently. "I mean, not that I'm- I'm just surprised she didn't say I was coming in, is all," she added. "I mean, you'd think she'd have said something, right? If she didn't want you guys to- Not that I think she's a bad leader!"

Brittany looked up from the box she was looking through, shaking her head. "Just that she met with you, really," she explained, "and that you gave her the information on the patrols and stuff. Why? What else should she have said?" Although the way Rachel was stumbling over her words, Brittany was starting to wonder exactly what she was _hoping_ Quinn would have said.

"Oh, nothing," Rachel replied. "Just... You know. Something. About me."

Brittany shrugged. "No, not really." She turned her attention back to the box she was looking through, going through yet-more pointless and boring files about sales and testing, nothing at all like what she was looking for. She frowned when a shadow fell across the box from behind, and she started to turn towards Rachel when the blow fell across the back of her head.

As she blacked out, Brittany heard Rachel say, "Tell Quinn I'm sorry." The last sounds she heard before losing consciousness completely were the door closing and the alarm going off. Distantly, she hoped Mike had gotten out all right.

* * *

"This could get messy," Quinn told Santana. The two were standing outside the police station. Inside, unconscious in a holding cell, was Brittany. Mike was back at the hotel room, sitting on something he was half-afraid to tell Quinn, as best as she could tell from the look in his eyes.

Quinn wished she knew what the fuck was going on, and how things had gone quite this tits-up, but for now she had a friend to rescue from the police. It was only a matter of time before they figured out who it was they'd caught, after all.

"Please," Santana replied, rolling her eyes. "It's not even half as bad as that time in Tiju-"

"I _told_ you," Quinn said, cutting Santana off. "We _don't_ talk about the time in Tijuana."

They had, Quinn figured, about ten, maybe fifteen seconds after she screamed for help, grabbing the attention of the entire station for Santana to sneak in the back entrance of the police station. At the most. Either way, succeed or fail, she wouldn't know for a couple of hours; for this plan to work, she'd be stuck giving statements about her mugger until long after Santana had gotten away with Brittany.

Or, Quinn reconsidered, looking as she was about to make her grand entrance, Brittany could walk out the front door of the police station. "Hi, Quinn!" she said, her smile bright. "That Rachel girl hit me over the head and left me there. Why didn't you say she was joining us in there? Did Mike get out okay? Oh, and I think Rachel's in love with you."

Quinn's heart stopped for a moment, or so it felt like to Quinn. Santana rushed up and threw her arms around Brittany. "Don't you worry me like that again!" she admonished. "How did you get out?"

"I asked nicely?" Brittany explained, sounding a little bit confused about it herself. "I guess MacGuffin is refusing to admit that I'm an intruder, 'cause that would mean they'd have to explain how I managed to get in, or something? So they don't have any charges to hold me on."

"Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth," Quinn said, ushering the two away from the station and back towards their hotel. "Mike's fine, he got out okay, and he says he has something to tell us. C'mon, we can talk back at the hotel." _And I,_ she told herself, _can ask Brittany what the fuck she's talking about. And then go kill Rachel._

* * *

Mike swallowed, trying to clear the thickness in his throat. Talking about stuff like this always made him nervous. "I found something in their system," he said, typing a few commands into his laptop and turning it around. Quinn and Santana both leaned in to read what was on the screen. "It's not good. They definitely knew about the batteries before sending them out."

On the screen was a memo. Quinn, as she read through it, had a sudden and serious flashback to the events leading up to Fulcrum's change in direction. Santana snorted, and Quinn, for a moment, wanted to smack her for not taking this seriously enough. "You have got to be kidding me," Santana said. "You have got to be _fucking_ kidding me. How do we get mixed _up_ with these people? First human testing, then a grand plan to rid of poverty by _killing poor people with faulty batteries_? What's next, a Bond villain monologuing about their plan being 'sheer elegance in its simplicity'?"

"Yes, Wendy. And if you call me Lacey, I'll hurt you." Quinn reached over to scroll further down through the memo. Santana had summed it up perfectly well: MacGuffin was a front for an operation spear-headed by the company's owner to eliminate poverty. By killing poor people. "Why do they even have this on the system? Why would they _tell_ anyone?"

"I guess only tech people are supposed to be accessing that system," Mike explained. "So presumably there are a few guys 'in the know' who go down to fix things when they go wrong. There's enough there... If it were just the memo, I'd expect us to be laughed out of wherever we took it, but I think I grabbed enough other data to prove it's good. Accurate. Quinn, please tell me you have someone who'll take this seriously?"

"There's a guy I know over in the white collar crime unit of the FBI," Quinn said, nodding. "He's been taking some odd tacks to his cases lately, so I think he might listen to this. And if not, he's working with an old friend of mine who I think can convince him." Besides, Neal owed her some favours. It was time, she thought, for her to collect.

Hell, maybe he knew Rachel.

"You did good work in there, Mike. You, too, Brittany. Both of you. This is exactly what we needed, not that it's anything at all what I expected to find."

"Yeah, you didn't know we were living in a _comic book_," Santana cut in.

Quinn shrugged. "I'm starting to realise that the world is a much more literary place than I'd ever thought before," she explained. "I don't think I'm going to be surprised by much of anything any more."

"You say that now," Brittany said, "but the world's always got more to surprise us, right? Like, there was this teacher I knew in high school, and he had this duck, right, and it was in a hat! At least, I think so..."

Santana slung an arm around Brittany's shoulders. "C'mon, babe," she said. "You can tell me all about the duck."

"Actually, Brittany, can I talk to you for a moment?" Quinn asked. "It'll just take a few seconds. Mike, Santana, if you two want to go get us some food?"

Her team knew Quinn well enough by now that they could take a hint, so Mike and Santana got up and left without another word. Brittany turned to Quinn. "What's up?"

Quinn frowned, just a little. "You said that Rachel was in there?" she asked.

"Yeah, she said that you were supposed to tell us she was coming in!" Brittany explained. "Which was weird, 'cause it's not the kind of thing you'd normally forget, and I guess she was probably lying about it, if she hit me? I mean, friends don't usually hit people, right?"

Quinn spared a quick thought for a former flame who'd been into spanking, but shook her head to clear away the images before she got too distracted. "That definitely wasn't the plan," she explained. "As far as I know, Rachel was just our contact for the information on MacGuffin's security. I have no idea what she was doing in there." _Although I think it's time I found out._

"Can I go with Santana and Mike?" Brittany asked as she stood up. "They always end up fighting over what to get, so they forget my soy-cheese, tofu bacon, gluten-free Canadian pizza."

"Yeah, sure," Quinn said, nodding, getting up herself. "Get me a club sandwich and a strawberry shake? I have to go out for a bit, but I'll be back soon.

Brittany nodded. "Okay!" she replied before bouncing out the door. "Don't be too long! Your milkshake will melt if you are!"

* * *

It only took Quinn a moment to break into Rachel's room when she didn't answer Quinn's knock. It took just a couple of moments more for Quinn's eyes to track across the room -- empty of any of Rachel's belongings -- to the envelope sitting on the bed. It was, Quinn noted with wry amusement, on the pillow on Quinn's 'side' -- the one she'd slept on when she'd stayed over with Rachel. She wondered if that was intentional, and could only conclude that it was.

_Dear Quinn,_ it began. Quinn frowned, closing her eyes for a moment to gather her thoughts.

> Dear Quinn,
> 
> I'm sorry. I had my orders, I was hired to get into MacGuffin, too. If it's any consolation, I think the people I'm working for want the same thing you do: to bring MacGuffin down and expose what they're doing.
> 
> I wish I could have told you! But I didn't know if you would have pulled out, or been mad, or... I'd already lied about it, you know? So I hope Brittany's okay. She seems like a nice girl, although she's a little dim, isn't she? I figure if anyone can get her out of jail, though, it's you.
> 
> I've got what I needed, so I don't know if you found anything or not. I know you said you were sending in a second person, so if he found something, good luck getting it out. You may need it -- no matter who you tell it to, this isn't going to be an easy story to sell.
> 
> Maybe I'll see you at karaoke sometime.
> 
> Love, Rachel

Quinn tore the letter in half, then half again, and again, until she couldn't tear it again and she let the pieces flutter to the floor. She contemplated burning them, but decided, in the end, that it wasn't worth the risk of burning down the hotel.


	3. The Personal Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains an explicit (and entirely gratuitous!) gay threesome sex scene, specifically Kurt/Puck/Mike. ... Because I thought it would be hot. ;) Sorry for not including anything explicit Quinn/Rachel-wise -- I don't feel I know enough about female anatomy to do it justice!

Quinn knew she was brooding.

Quinn hated brooding, not least because she knew exactly how unattractive she looked when she was doing it -- even if she couldn't tell every time she looked in the mirror, Santana's constant reminders would have kept her updated. She hated brooding, hated looking horrible, and hated one thing most of all:

She couldn't stop.

"Seriously, Quinn, what is _up_ with you? Wasn't she, like, a one-time fuck or something? So she screwed us over." Santana sat herself down on the edge of Quinn's desk, forcing Quinn's eyes away from the files in front of her. "It's not like it meant anything, right?"

"Santana, please move. I'm trying to find our next case."

Santana glanced down at the files and rolled her eyes. "That's a job for the police, that one's the responsibility of child services and is _actually_ something they'll do something about, and this one's just some crazy-ass woman from your hometown who's trying to scam us out of money to fuel her alcoholism."

Quinn eyed the last file carefully. The name _had_ seemed familiar... Finally, with a sigh, she shoved the files aside and dropped her face into her hands. "What is _wrong_ with me, Santana?" she asked. "I mean, okay, it wasn't once, I've met her before. I just... didn't want to say anything."

"What?" Santana's eyes lit up. "Oh, come on, you can _not_ leave that there. When did you meet her before? Was it-" Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Quinn searchingly. "She's the one from Paris, isn't she?" Santana asked. "The one you met. Who you didn't want to talk about."

"She stole Pterodactyl Attack," Quinn explained softly. "She's the one who got it. I was so glad when we found out about Sachs, 'cause it meant I didn't have to turn her in. I never thought I'd see her again, but then it turned out she was the contact in Lima, and..."

"And you think you're in love with her?" Santana asked.

"I don't know, dammit." Quinn sighed, scrunched up her eyes, and let out a long growl of frustration. "God, I just wish I wasn't so upset about this! I've met her twice! How did she manage to-"

"Is she at least hot?" Quinn rolled her eyes at Santana, who continued, "No, I'm serious. If you're going to get this upset about her, she should at least be hot. Or good in bed. Preferably both."

Quinn nodded slowly. "Yes, okay? Hot, and sexy, and the best I've ever had, and I barely know the woman. I can't be in love with her."

Santana got up off of Quinn's desk before pulling Quinn up out of her chair and into a hug. "It's okay," she assured Quinn, her usually-hidden soft interior coming out for her oldest friend. "C'mon, you know what you need? A night out."

"I don't really think-" Quinn began, but Santana had already turned away and was leaning out of Quinn's office door.

"Brittany! Text the boys, see if they want to come with us! We're taking Quinn out to meet hot chicks."

"Okay!" Brittany shouted back. "Tell her that it's okay if she misses Rachel, but we love her and she needs to stop brooding!"

Quinn, recognising that she had absolutely no choice in the matter, just laughed, wondering when this became her life.

* * *

"You want to go out with the girls?" Mike asked, fiddling with his phone. "Just got a text from Brittany, she and Santana are dragging Quinn out for drinks to get her mind off... things. Whatever it is that's been bothering her since Lima."

Kurt poked his head into the living room through the door to the kitchen. "Um. I've almost got dinner ready -- tell her we may meet her there later?"

"'Kay," Mike replied, tapping away at his phone to send the text. "What's for dinner, anyway?"

"You'll have to wait and see," Kurt sing-songed, heading back into the kitchen to his cooking. "It's a surprise."

Mike laughed. "Just as long as it's not like the last surprise, okay?" he said. "I can do without another night spent in the ER because you've burned your mouth too badly on a hot pepper." Before Kurt could give a retort, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Mike said, getting up, still texting to Brittany with one hand as he pushed the button on the intercom with the other. "Who is it?"

"Hey, it's me." A beat. "Puck. Let me in."

As Mike pushed the button, grinning, Kurt poked his out the kitchen door again. "Was that Puck?" he asked. "I'll have to put on another chicken breast."

Mike couldn't help but roll his eyes. "I don't think he's here for your cooking," he pointed out, quickly tapping out, 'pucks here call u l8r' to Brittany. A few seconds later, he got a reply: '2mrw k? santana n i will b busy l8r'.

Totally more than he needed to know.

"That's no excuse to be a poor host," Kurt called from the kitchen. "Besides, we'll probably need our strength. You know how... athletic... Puck can be."

There was a knock at the door. Mike stepped over to open it, letting Puck into the apartment. "'Sup," Puck said, moving past Mike to flop down on the couch in the living room. "Was in the neighbourhood, figured I'd stop by."

"Date turn you down?" Mike asked, rolling his eyes. It wasn't that either he or Kurt _minded_ their occasional... liaisons... with Puck, but they had an annoying habit of occurring right after he'd been shot down by the girl (or guy, or couple...) he'd been hoping to score with that night.

"Didn't have one tonight," Puck replied, shaking his head, surprising Mike. "Thought I'd come by and hang out, is all. We never really do outside of work."

Mike gave him a look.

"Okay, fine. Outside of work and fucking. But it's not like you guys mind, right? Oh, hey, mind if I put the game on?"

Mike shrugged, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of his and Kurt's ridiculously large plasma screen. "Make yourself at home," he said. "We've got all of the sports channels in HD, so don't bother with the regular ones. Want a drink?"

Puck nodded as he grabbed the remote. "Yeah, whatever's fine." He settled into the couch a little more, spreading himself out.

Stepping into the kitchen, Mike rolled his eyes again. "If this keeps up," he said, chuckling softly, "we're going to have to start charging him rent."

"Well, we do have that extra bedroom," Kurt pointed out, stepping around Mike with a steaming pot of pasta. "And I know he's been looking for a new place." There was a colander already waiting in the sink, into which Kurt drained the pasta. "Since the surprise is spoiled, you want to dice those peppers?" He nodded towards the cutting board on the counter, on which were waiting two green bell peppers, a red, and a yellow.

"Just grabbing a drink for Puck first. You want one?" Mike pulled open the fridge and grabbed a couple of bottles of beer.  
 Kurt made a face. "Beer? Ugh. I'll just have wine with dinner, thanks."

Mike nodded and took the beer out to Puck, handing it over wordlessly. Puck, for his part, was already engrossed in the evening's football game, so Mike returned to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and began dicing peppers. "It would be interesting," he said, filling the silence. "To have Puck move in, I mean." He pushed the cutting board across the counter and grabbed the hunk of parmesan cheese sitting on the countertop with their cheese grater. "For one thing, we'd probably end up having a threesome with him on a regular basis."

"And we aren't already?" Kurt pointed out. "I still don't understand why we started." He stops for a beat. "Not that I'm complaining. He is nothing if not... creative and energetic."

"He's probably learned it from all the cougars," Mike joked, getting to work on generating a generous pile of grated parmesan.

Kurt shuddered. "God, don't remind me. I don't want to think that my mouth's been in the same place as some forty-year-old woman's vajayjay."

Mike's hands stilled, and he calmly put the cheese and grater down before turning to Kurt and breaking out laughing. "Did you actually just say that?" he asked. "Seriously?"

"What?" Kurt replied, affronted. "It's true! And not just my mouth, but at least then I can think of it as their having been the same place as my ass."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," Mike said around his laughter. "This is just-- It's _ridiculous_!"

Kurt reached over and snagged Mike's hand. He pulled Mike close. "Yeah," he said. "But that's why you love me." Kurt pressed his lips against Mike's, a sweet little kiss. "Ten bucks says that Puck asks us to fuck before we're finished eating."

Dinner didn't take too much longer to prepare, especially not with both Mike and Kurt working on it, so shortly they were seated with Puck in front of the television, watching the end of the football game. "There another game on?" Mike asked Puck, who shrugged.

"Don't think so," Puck replied. "But you guys can Tivo it if there is one, right? So we can watch it after we fuck." Mike and Kurt shared a look, chuckling, and Mike pulled out his wallet to hand Kurt a ten dollar bill. Puck frowned. "I'm not even going to ask," he said. "But seriously, can we take this to the bedroom?"

"Please, let's finish eating first," Kurt insisted. "And then, yes, we can have sex."

"But why bother going to the bedroom?" Mike pointed out, "when we've got a perfectly serviceable couch right here?"

Puck grinned and starts wolfing down his pasta. In a matter of moments, he pushed the plate aside and leaned back, spreading his legs and linking his hands behind his head. "C'mon, Kurt. Suck me."

"We'll get to that." Mike came forward and sat down beside Puck. He pulled on the hem of Puck's t-shirt, prompting the other man to sit up just enough that Mike could slip it off. Mike ran one hand lightly along the length of Puck's toned torso. "Let's not rush this, okay?"

"O-Okay," Puck agreed, gasping at the contact. "I'm good with that."

Standing up, Kurt undid his pants and let them drop to the floor. His shirt followed, leaving him in a pair of briefs as he clambored onto the couch to straddle Puck. "Yes," he said. "Let's have some fun first." He leaned down to kiss Puck. Mike, meanwhile, leaned in to lick along the line of Puck's jaw. He grabbed Puck's hand, and pushed it inside Kurt's underwear to cup Kurt's ass. "Oh, yeah," Kurt groaned, not pulling away from the kiss, his words muffled against Puck's lips. "Can't wait for you to fuck me. You make the hottest sounds when you fuck me."

Mike grinned and pulled his hand away. "Let me in," he said, his mouth right by Kurt and Puck's. Kurt pulled away just a bit, not enough to break the kiss, and Mike's lips joined theirs, his tongue sweeping across Puck's mouth before he pulled away again. "You want Kurt to suck you?" he asked Puck. "He'll never admit it, but he loves your cock. I bet he can't wait to taste you again."

Puck nodded and moaned a yes before he pushed Kurt away from him. "Suck me," he ordered, his breath short with arousal. His pants felt tight against his erection, and it was with relief that he felt Kurt move down, undo his fly, and pull down his jeans. Kurt's lips against his cock were hot, wet, through Puck's underwear, and Puck's moans of delight were stifled only by Mike pulling him into another kiss.

Even that couldn't muffle Puck's gutterral groan when Kurt pulled down his underwear, releasing Puck's cock to the air just long enough for Kurt to swallow it to the hilt in one smooth motion. "Holy fuck," Puck swore. "I love how he-" he gasped at Mike. "I still don't get how he fucking-"

"He says it's singing lessons," Mike explained, laughing. "Trained away his gag reflex." Somewhere along the way, he'd lost his jeans, and he'd not been wearing underwear, Puck realised. Mike's cock was hard, swollen, long and thick, and Puck reached for it, replacing Mike's idly moving hand with his own. "You want to taste it?" Mike asked, and Puck just nodded, words taken away by the intensity of the moment. Mike moved up the couch and straddled Puck's face. Puck did the rest, bringing Mike's cock to his mouth, letting his tongue dart out to taste the sweet drop of precome glistening at the head. "Yeah, that's it," Mike coaxed. "C'mon, you can take more than that."

But Puck wasn't to be pushed. Instead of taking Mike's length into his mouth, he licked up one side of it, and back down the other. He let his tongue run across Mike's balls and brought up his other hand to press lightly against Mike's perineum, prompting Mike's own gasp, half surprise, half pleasure. "I knew this were a good choice," Mike said through his moans. "God, you're a hot fucking- Oh fuck!"

Puck's breath hitched when Kurt teased a finger at his hole, his hips bucking, and bucking again when Mike grabbed at his mohawk. "God, this is-" Puck said, his lips against Mike's cock. "One of you, fuck me, please, fuck me." Neither Kurt nor Mike moved to change position, though; Mike just laughed and gripped Puck's hair a little bit harder -- not enough to hurt, but close -- and Kurt kept teasing at Puck's hole as he worked his throat on Puck's cock. "Please, guys, please-" Puck moaned. "Need one of you to fuckin'-" His breath came faster, harsher, until: "Fuck, fucking Christ, I'm coming!"

"Yeah, that's it," Mike said, his voice tight with arousal. "Shoot it. Fill his mouth." He bucked his own hips one last time before pulling out of Puck's mouth and rolling off of him. Kurt moved back just enough on Puck's cock that only the head remained past his lips, making sure to take every last drop into his mouth before pulling off with one last swirl of his tongue. Mike grabbed Kurt and pulled him into a kiss, sharing Puck's load between them.

Puck panted beneath the other two, enjoying the afterglow of his climax before grinning and reaching over to grasp both Mike and Kurt's erections. "Y'know, I think Kurt said something last time about getting fucked at both ends," he said. "Give me a couple of minutes and I can probably make good on that." In fact, Puck's erection hadn't managed to drop entirely, still hanging at half-mast. He leaned in to where Mike and Kurt were still kissing, and licked away a drop of white where it's leaked from Kurt's mouth. Puck dragged his tongue along Kurt's jawline, licked down his neck, swirled around his nipple. He kissed his way down Kurt's abs. Kurt was still wearing his briefs, Puck realised, and so he decided to return Kurt's earlier favor: he mouthed Kurt's erection through the briefs before sliding them down and swallowing Kurt's cock. He wasn't so talented as Kurt -- he couldn't take it all the way. Still, Kurt groaned into the kiss with Mike, which Puck took as a very good sign.

Mike pulled away from the kiss, moving back just enough so that Kurt would have easy access to his cock. Puck was happy to note that every time he got a groan out of Kurt, Mike moaned as well, the vibrations travelling through his cock. "Got a condom handy?" Puck asked, coming just far enough off of Kurt to ask. Mike nodded and fumbled at the end-table, pulling a condom and a bottle of lube out of the drawer.

"Here," he said, tossing it over to Puck. "We've probably got some stashed in every room of the house."

Puck was fully hard again, the excitement of the scene enough to get him going quickly, so he tore the condom open and slid it on. Puck squeezed a little bit of lube out of the bottle and teased at Kurt's ass, getting it wet before lining up his sheathed erection with Kurt's entrance. The younger man groaned as he felt the head of Puck's cock tease at his hole, gasped as Puck started to slide in, and gave a muffled cry when Puck forced himself all the way in.

"Yeah, that's it," Mike encouraged. "C'mon, fuck him. Ride him hard." Puck nodded, his eyes fluttering closed -- Puck was tight, much tighter than he'd remembered, and even with one orgasm already, he didn't think he'd last very long. "Fuck yeah, I'm getting close," Mike said, rocking his hips upward, forcing his cock deeper into Kurt's throat. "Yeah, getting close, gonna come," he continued. Puck leaned down to lick and nip at Kurt's earlobe, one hand coming up to play with Mike's balls while Kurt sucked. "Gonna- fuck, I'm coming!" Mike pushed Kurt off of him and gave one stroke, too, and then he was firing his load across Kurt's face, long ropes of white criss-crossing his features. It set Kurt off, that and Puck filling him, stroke after stroke, and he had his own climax, hands-free, onto the couch.

"Gonna-" Puck gasped, already getting close again, feeling the familiar build-up at the base of his spine. "Gonna- Gonna come, guys, gonna come inside you, Kurt-" and with a final, deep-chested groan, and one last thrust of his hips, Puck filled the condom with his second load of the night.

The three collapsed, breathless, onto the couch. Puck pulled off the condom, tied it off, and threw it in the general direction of the garbage can. "I'll pick it up later," he said, a satisfied smile on his face. Mike just nodded as Kurt snuggled in between them.

"That's fine," Mike agreed. "Let's just sit here a moment, yeah?"

"And then later," Kurt added, "we can go again."

"Maybe a shower first," Puck said, laughing. "And then, do you guys have enough for seconds? I barely tasted that food, but I'm pretty sure it was good."

* * *

The bar was loud, loud enough that Quinn, who hasn't been out for dancing in far too long, found it hurting her ears. "I'm going to go get a drink!" she shouted at Santana, who barely noticed, being far too busy grinding against Brittany. She did nod at Quinn, though, so Quinn could only assume that Santana heard her.

It was a little bit quieter right by the bar proper, so Quinn didn't feel she had to shout quite as loud when she ordered a cooler from the bartender. She paid for her drink and looked out over the crowd on the dance floor, waiting for someone -- guy or girl, she wasn't feeling particularly picky -- to catch her eye, except no one did. They were too tall, or too short. Their hair was too dark, too light, too straight, or curly, or short, or long. And no one's nose, Quinn found herself thinking, was big enough.

_God,_ Quinn thought, _I really am stuck on her._ The thought was entirely too depressing, so Quinn downed rest of the cooler in a few long swallows and pulled out her iPhone. She texted, 'Heading back to office, too depressed for dancing!' to Santana, and watched Santana on the dance floor as she pulled out her phone and frown. Still, Santana looked up and caught Quinn's eye, giving her a nod and a shrug. Quinn mouthed, "Love you!" at Santana, who grinned and mouthed it back before returning her attention to Brittany.

When Quinn stepped out of the bar, it was already getting dark outside, for which Quinn was grateful. It was still summer, though barely, and the twilight shadows cut the heat of the day just enough that Quinn wasn't uncomfortable as she walked back to the office. It was only a few blocks, about a twenty minute walk if the lights were with her, and Quinn had found the walk to the office from the bar was usually a good way to clear her head when she was muddled over something.

Quinn pulled her iPhone out again and tapped away at it, pulling up her email to find nothing new waiting for her. She sighed; even when trying to clear her head, she kept coming back to work. It was work, after all, that had led her to Rachel both times they'd met, and part of her, she realised, was hoping that another job would bring them together again. Not that Quinn knew if she'd rather kiss Rachel, or kill her.

Both, realistically, although Quinn would prefer them to be in that order.

Just as Quinn was slipping her phone away, it buzzed in her hand, the quick fizz of an incoming text message. Quinn pulled up the message and frowned at the phone, for all the message said was, 'Roof of the building across from your office, if you'll talk. -R'

"You have got to be kidding me," Quinn mused, wondering if she were seeing things. She rubbed at her eyes and looked again, but the message read the same way. Rachel, it seemed, hadn't waited for the winds of chance to bring them together again. Quinn wished she knew how she felt about it, but turned instead of crossing the street, heading for the building she thought Rachel meant.

It had been a while since Quinn did any breaking-and-entering of her own -- since high school, in fact. With Fulcrum, she left that to Puck, Brittany and Mike, who were all far better at it than she is. Still, she was not without her own skills, and it was impossible to work with Fulcrum without picking up at least a few tricks.

Not to mention, Quinn noted, the building Rachel picked was distinctly lacking in security. If she'd wanted to, she probably could have just walked right in the front door and gone up the elevator. Instead, she elected to go up the fire escape; it wasn't a particularly tall building, and it was a little bit older than some of those around it.

"You came."

Quinn stopped at the top of the fire escape, the words making her hesitate before stepping off. "I wasn't sure you would," Rachel continued. Quinn didn't seem to be able to look up at her, but she could picture the look on Rachel's face well enough: earnest, a little frightened, but excited, too. "I mean, after everything -- but I wasn't sure if you'd hold MacGuffin against me. After all, I was hired to do it, and you know what it's like to have a contract like that, and, I mean, in the end everything worked out, right? You got what you wanted, I got what I wanted, and MacGuffin went down like a house of cards."

"Yeah," Quinn said, rolling her eyes. "And I had to break one of my best friends out of jail for a crime that she didn't actually commit." As opposed to all the ones she _had_. Quinn chose to ignore that part. And also that Brittany had more or less broken _herself_ out of jail.

Details.

"Well, it's not like I didn't know that you'd be able to do that!" Rachel pointed out. "I mean, I know, I knew, what it is that you do, so I figured you'd have no problem saving Brittany if she got caught."

Quinn finally looked up. Rachel was standing near the access to the interior staircase wearing a simple, but flattering, dress. She was looking at Quinn, her eyes wide, and, yes, earnest. Quinn stamped mental feet down on her heart. "Yeah, well, it still doesn't make me inclined to want to listen to you," she retorted.

Rachel's eyes flared with a hint of laughter. "No?" she asked. "You're here, aren't you? And I figure that maybe that means I have a chance after all, right? Well, maybe an equal chance of you coming after me either kiss me or kill me, but I'd really rather it were the first, and-"

One, two, three long steps, and Quinn was in Rachel's personal space. A hand up to her shoulder, a simple lean in, and Quinn was bring her lips against Rachel's, cutting off the flow of words at the source. She intends it to be a simple kiss, a quick one, but the body remembers what the mind tries to forget, and it remembers Rachel's touch where Quinn wished it didn't. Quinn melts against Rachel, forcing her back against the wall, and she deepens the kiss, her tongue teasing at Rachel's lips until they part for it. Rachel's hands are at Quinn's waist, holding her close, and she pulls her mouth away just long enough to say, "I thought so."

"Shut up," Quinn replies, before bringing their mouths back together for more pressing matters.

It's not too long before they're sitting against the wall, smiling softly, Rachel's hand in Quinn's. "I am sorry," Rachel insisted, "for what happened in Lima. I just... I've never reneged on a job before. I've never _wanted_ to before, but I wanted... It scared me, so I guess I kinda panicked."

"You wanted to...?" Quinn asked, trailing off. A moment passes, and Rachel doesn't reply. "I mean. For me? You wanted to break your contract for me? Why? We barely knew each other! Hell, we barely know each other _now_."

"I know," Rachel agreed. "I think that's what scared me the most. We've only met a couple of times, I know, but it was enough to... And, I mean, obviously I'm not expecting anything. I just thought you should know. And I came up with the perfect way to avoid that ever happening again!" she added. "I mean, the problem was that I was hired to do something that ran counter to your interests, right? So the best way to stop it from happening is if you're my employer!"

Quinn frowned, just for a moment. "You mean you want me to hire you?" she asked. "Fulcrum isn't... It doesn't work like that," she insisted. "I mean, I'm the leader, but decisions like this..."

"You can convince them," Rachel insisted, and Quinn knew it was true: Fulcrum may be nominally, in some regard, run by consensus, but they'll go where she leads. They always will. "And, I mean, I'm sure you can use someone of my talents."

"Well, we do already have Mike and Brittany," Quinn pointed out, but she knew it was a weak argument. Brittany was just as good as Rachel, Quinn was pretty sure, but she wasn't as focused.

"And it has other benefits," Rachel continued, as if Quinn hadn't spoken at all. "I mean, it keeps me here, or at least it means I can go where you go, and I'm good in an office, too, if you need someone for any kind of administrative work, and I'm a _great_ undercover agent. I went to Juilliard for acting, and it's really served me well on cons."

Quinn sighed softly, but she couldn't help but smile. "I guess I can bring you in on a trial basis," she allowed. "And we can see how you work out." She leaned in to give Rachel another kiss. "So," she asked. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"I do," Rachel said, grinning. She laughed. "I've already dropped my bags off at your place. You really need to move to a more secure building or something. Or at least install something better in your flat."

"Rachel?" Quinn said, laughing back. "What would you have done if I'd said no?"

Rachel's grin widened. "Please," she said. "Like you could have said no to me."

She'd lost the argument, Quinn realised: Rachel was joining Fulcrum, no matter what Quinn said to her.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, at the end of the day? She'd won.


End file.
